


i'm in charge

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: “Dick, look at the evidence!  He’snot dead–”“Grayson, the Pretender’s logic is not entirely without merit –”“You’re going to take that track, Dickhead?  Going to break this family up again –”“I am trying to keep this family together!” Dick shouted.  They all fell silent.  “I amtryingto keep this familytogether,” he repeated, his voice cracking.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 117
Kudos: 1121
Collections: finished shit





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder that the author's knowledge of the Batfamily comes primarily through fanfiction.
> 
> Also, the author is an eldest sibling and tortures Dick accordingly. (What do you mean I can't work through my feelings by traumatizing poor, innocent characters?)

He finally gave up and recruited Alfred.

Damian showed up for training and disappeared whenever Dick tried to talk to him, Tim was so far in denial that Dick was tearing his hair out, and Jason nearly shot Dick the last time he tried to talk on patrol.

He needed the big guns – Alfred called everyone, insisting that he was making dinner and he expected everyone there, and Dick smiled so wide his face hurt, because none of them would’ve ever shown up if _he’d_ been the one asking.

But for Alfred, everyone was on time – Damian observed what Alfred was making with fascination, Jason showed up without a speck of blood, and Tim had even deigned to look up from his wide array of papers at the smell of Alfred’s lasagna.

They ate in the kitchen, warmth and light chasing away shadows and darkness and, for an hour, Dick dared to hope. They’d taken dessert to the den, Tim’s and Damian’s argument over explosions turning into a movie night as Jason egged them on, and Dick settled back against the couch as the documentary began to play.

Warmth curled happily inside of him as he observed his family, Bruce was gone but he still had his brothers.

If he could get Jason back to the house, if he could coax Damian out of the shell he’d retreated back into, if he could join with Tim to patrol the city, if –

“Bruce is alive.”

The cheesecake abruptly tasted like ash. (Ash and failure and disappointment.)

Dick swallowed with difficulty and got off the couch. His blood felt like ice in his veins.

“Drake –”

“Look, Tim –”

“No, _stop_ , I have proof!” Dick could hear Tim scrambling with his papers and the music cut off abruptly as Tim switched the TV screen to mirror his tablet.

Dick walked to the window and stared out into the darkness. It was raining, a soft pitter-patter of droplets against the glass. He remembered standing here, back when he was nine, and trying to wrap his head around being Bruce Wayne’s ward.

He remembered feeling numb, colder than cold, _unfeeling_ because to feel would be too much.

He knew what it felt like when the people you loved fell and didn’t get back up, no matter how many times you prayed for it to be a dream.

“See, we already know there are inconsistencies in the body –”

“Replacement, if this is your cloning theory again –”

“Tt. If the body is not Father’s, then where _is_ he? He would have returned to Gotham by now.”

“Shut up, Jason, and I’m getting to that, Damian. See, this is the footage of the attack – notice anything strange about the flames?”

Dick wanted to turn. To check. To see. He didn’t. His fingernails were biting into his palms.

“That does not look like normal fire and believe me, I would know.”

“Yes, exactly! I’ve run the calculations, and there’s a huge surge of energy around that time – it’s not normal fire and there’s an energy transference that can’t be accounted for in the temperature rise and according to the law of entropy, it –”

“ _English_ , Tim, jeez.”

“Right. Uh, the fire has a lot of energy and that energy just…vanished. Energy doesn’t vanish. It had to go _somewhere_.”

“It could’ve just vaporized Batman.”

“Then _why was there a body_?”

Dick rested his head against the glass. It felt blissfully cool. Unfortunately, he couldn’t drown out the voices behind him. He dully entertained the thought of covering his ears, tearing at them, until they were bleeding and he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat.

“This is beginning to sound like the clone conspiracy theory –”

“Jason, just. If we accept that the body isn’t Bruce’s, then we have to accept that _someone put it there_. Someone wanted us to believe that Batman was dead.”

“Which means…he’s not?”

“Your logic is circular, Drake.”

Tim sighed, loud and heavy, and Dick could feel the weight of gravity in his bones.

“The body isn’t Bruce’s. Which means we haven’t found a body. And I am _not_ going to accept that Batman’s dead without a body!”

Dick wanted to go back, to envelop Tim in a hug and sooth away his frustration – but he didn’t know how to get Tim to listen. How to counter his arguments. How to get him out of the spiral of denial.

“Then where is he?” Jason asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Yes, Drake, if Father is not dead, where is he? You cannot possibly think he would do anything other than return to Gotham or, failing that, attempt to contact us.”

That had been about as far as Dick had reached with him last time before Tim had stormed away, eyes alight, to hunt for proof.

“I think he’s lost in time.”

“What?”

“What?”

_What_?

Tim’s voice became more and more eager as he shared the details of what he found, the bat sightings throughout history, the whispers of a strange man who appeared and disappeared without a trace, and Dick’s heart clenched as Damian’s mutters died to a contemplative silence and Jason’s questions went from idle to focused.

It sounded convincing. Hearing Tim lay the whole thing out, it made sense, it was logical, and given everything that happened to them over the years, stuck in the time stream was probably not the weirdest.

But Dick just…couldn’t. Couldn’t believe. Couldn’t make himself do it.

He wanted to. He wanted to so badly it _hurt_. His throat had closed and his eyes were burning – he wanted Bruce back. He wanted it and he was terrified of that want.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. That all he had to do was take one little step. A leap of faith. Like his parents had taught him, swinging high above the ground. A leap of faith, and they would catch him.

A leap of faith. Batman wouldn’t let him fall. Batman _never_ let him fall.

But Batman was gone.

Batman was gone and if Dick took that step and fell, he wasn’t getting back up.

If he jumped, if he leapt, if he stepped out and fell, it would break him. 

Dick knew it and wanted to do it anyway.

Tim’s argument wound to a passionate close and a heavy silence descended over the room.

Dick carefully uncurled a fist and reached out to splay his fingers against the glass. They looked thin and pale against the stormy night.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Replacement. Alright. It isn’t even the weirdest thing we’ve seen. Hell, I woke up in my coffin and we still haven’t figured that one out.”

“Your logic is perhaps less than dismal on this one, Drake.”

“Thank you, Damian. So…so you guys really believe me?”

“Yup. How are we getting the old man back? I presume you have a plan.”

Dick’s fingers clenched on the glass. He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted nothing more than to hear this.

_He wanted his father back_. And he was terrified of it.

“I – yes, I do. Dick? Dick, you believe me, right?”

Dick didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything but stare into the darkness. If he squinted just right, the shadows would almost look like a cowl and a cape. He didn’t squint.

“Dick?”

“Grayson?”

“Hello? Earth to Dickhead!” He could hear Jason’s voice getting closer and didn’t resist as his brother pulled him away from glass. “Were you even paying – Dick?”

Dick blinked. Jason’s face was blurry. “Dick, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, softer this time.

He couldn’t open his mouth. It felt like it had been clamped shut.

“Dick, it’s okay. Bruce isn’t dead. We’ll find him. I _promise_.”

Batman had made him a promise too. And here Dick was, trying to gather up all the shattered pieces.

He wanted to believe that Bruce was coming back. He wanted it with all of his heart. But he’d learned the hard way that sometimes people fell and _didn’t get back up_.

And Dick couldn’t throw himself headlong into that leap of faith without knowing that someone was there to catch him. He couldn’t do that to his family. He _wouldn’t_ do that to his family.

“Dick,” Tim said softly. Dick blinked and tears slipped soundlessly down his cheeks. “We’ll get him back.”

The hope was right there. All he had to do was reach out and take it. To put his faith in Batman. To put his faith in Bruce. To put his faith in his dad.

It felt like he was standing over Bruce’s grave again, a shovel of dirt in his hand. It felt like he was teetering on the edge because the dirt would make it _real_ , would mean that Bruce was gone, he was really gone, and Dick was selfish, he didn’t want to accept it, he didn’t want it to hurt –

But they had all been staring at him. His brothers. Alfred. If he didn’t accept it, neither would they. And Dick couldn’t do that to them.

He was the eldest. It hurt, _it hurt so much_ , he wanted his dad back, he wanted his family back –

But he was the eldest. And he couldn’t drag them all down with him.

“No,” Dick croaked out.

Tim jerked back like he was struck. Damian’s eyes narrowed and Jason crossed his arms.

“Dick, look at the evidence! He’s _not dead_ –”

“Grayson, the Pretender’s logic is not entirely without merit –”

“You’re going to take that track, Dickhead? Going to break this family up again –”

“I am trying to keep this family together!” Dick shouted. They all fell silent. “I am _trying_ to keep this family _together_ ,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

“We’ll get Bruce back,” Tim said quietly, “Dick, we’ll –”

“Stop.”

“No, _listen to me_ –”

“Tim, stop.”

“You aren’t listening –”

“ _Robin_ ,” Dick said, aching and hollow, “Stop.”

Tim fell silent.

Dick took a couple of wavering steps forward and let his hands fall on Tim’s shoulders. “Don’t,” he said simply, “Just _don’t_. I can’t believe you, Tim. Don’t ask me to.”

“And here I thought the Golden Boy would be the first one chomping at the bit to get dear old dad back,” Jason bit back.

“He’s dead,” Dick said, cold – not to hurt, but because he couldn’t make his tone any warmer.

“Grayson –”

“He’s dead,” Dick repeated, staring at Tim. The younger boy’s face was twisted, half-stubborn, half-hurt, and Dick knew he would never let it go. If Dick wanted him to stop, he’d have to break him and he couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – do that.

What was the point if Dick didn’t learn from Bruce’s mistakes?

“Why don’t you believe me?” Tim snapped, his voice cracking from frustration.

“If I believe you,” Dick started, and it tore at him, seizing him, dragging him to taste the hypothetical, to try it out, to see, to take a _peek_ –

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Shit.” Jason, surprised and bewildered. “You’re afraid. You’re _actually_ afraid.”

If he believed them, then there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do to get his father back. If he believed, then he would take that leap at a run, rushing into the void, leaving everything behind.

Leaving his family behind. Leaving his brothers behind. Leaving it all for a desperate hope that Bruce was there to catch him.

Strong fingers broke his grip on Tim’s shoulders and Dick was enveloped in the smell of gunpowder and leather. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking, “I _can’t_ , Jay. Don’t make me.”

“No one’s going to make you do anything,” Jason whispered and, clinging to him, Dick could close his eyes and almost pretend he was Bruce.

One moment. Just one. He was entitled to that, surely. Just _one_ before he let go.

There was a conversation happening over his head – no one was making a sound, but Dick could tell that _something_ was taking place. Dick raised his head in time to catch Tim’s narrow-eyed glare, but they broke off as he straightened up.

Dick scrubbed at his face. He was perpetually exhausted, and keeping track of the city and his brothers was turning his hair grey, and Dick had no idea how Bruce had managed to do it all for so long.

“Tim, I’m sorry but –”

“I’m going on a trip,” Tim announced, crossing his arms, “For a…long-term project. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving,” Tim repeated, “Research.”

“Where – Tim, you can’t just _leave_.”

“Sure I can,” Tim blinked at him.

“I am not letting a sixteen-year-old gallivant around the country –”

“Actually, the first stop is going to be in France.”

“Around the _world_.” Dick could feel the hysteria creeping into his voice. “By himself!”

“You’re not my dad,” Tim said flatly, and Dick felt like he’d been shot.

Tim’s eyes widened, “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I – I just. You aren’t. Legally. You – you can’t stop me.”

He was right. Dick was trying so hard to hold onto family, but – but he could do nothing if they decided to let go.

“You can’t go away by yourself,” Dick repeated, hoarse. Terrible scenarios flitted through his mind – Tim hurt, Tim alone, Tim trapped in a warehouse with a bomb, calling frantically for Nightwing –

“He won’t be by himself,” Jason said roughly. Tim’s expression flickered in shock.

“ _What_?” Dick rasped.

“He won’t be by himself,” Jason repeated, scowling. Tim looked like he was unsure of whether he wanted to accept this offer or not. “Might as well put the fear of the Red Hood in some other cities. Crime Alley will keep.”

“Jason,” Dick started, unsure of what he was going to say. Jason had barely hung around when Bruce was alive, what could Dick possibly do to make him stay?

“It’s not going to be _forever_ , Dickhead, get that look off your face,” Jason grumbled, “Replacement wants a field trip, I’ll shoot anyone who looks at him funny. We’ll come back.”

_With Bruce_ was the unsubtle glance they shared.

“And I will accompany them to ensure –”

“No!” all three of them shouted.

“You – you, I _am_ in charge of, and you are _not leaving this city_ ,” Dick hissed, his heart racing.

“What do you expect me to do here?” Damian scoffed, scowling, “I am more than qualified to join Hood and the Pretender, and I wish to retrieve Father. You cannot stop me.”

“If you’re under the impression that I will not _lock you in the Cave_ ,” Dick started threateningly, but Tim cut him off.

“I need to find – I need to finish this project,” Tim said quietly, “But Gotham needs a Robin. _Batman_ needs a Robin.” Tim darted a quick glance at Dick before turning back to Damian, “So, if you’re willing…”

Damian’s eyes were round. He stared at Tim for a long moment. “You have finally accepted that I am the superior choice of partner?” he tried to huff, but they could all hear the wonder in his tone.

“Sure,” Tim laughed softly, “We can go with that.”

Dick stared. Jason stared. “Damn, I can’t believe they’re actually getting along,” Jason muttered, sotto voce, and Dick elbowed him as twin glares turned their way.

“Great, it’s all settled,” Tim said, “Jason and I will leave, Damian and Dick will stay, and we’ll – we’ll come back with Bruce.”

Dick felt his face twist, but didn’t say a word.

* * *

Dick had at least managed to wrangle them into staying for another day – Tim had been half out the door and Jason didn’t seem inclined to stop him – with bribes, pleas, and finally the threat of what Alfred’s reaction would be if he woke up to see them both gone.

Damian had been no help whatsoever – Dick was half-convinced that he’d find a way to sneak into Tim’s luggage, Robin or not, and Dick spent the next day white-knuckled at the thought that they’d all leave before their agreed-upon time.

If Bruce had been here –

No. _No_. He couldn’t do that. He was going to lose his mind if he did that. He needed to let Tim go and blow off steam and Jason would either keep him out of trouble – or drag him straight into it – and Dick needed to make sure Damian wouldn’t vanish back to the League of Assassins if he took his eyes off of him.

They would be back. He had to hold onto that. _They would be back_.

Dick watched, silent and pale, as Jason and Tim loaded their luggage in the car – Dick hadn’t offered the Batplane, and they hadn’t asked – with Alfred in the driver’s seat. Alfred had made it clear that he didn’t approve, but he was driving them to the airport anyway.

Finally, the trunk slammed shut and Jason meandered back to the front stoop. “Catch you later, Dickie,” he said, blank-faced.

“Call,” Dick said. Jason raised his eyebrows. “Call. Check in. So that we know you’re safe.”

“Sure thing, Dickiebird,” Jason smiled and Dick felt it carve something deep inside his heart. “We’ll be back.”

Tim raised a hand in farewell, his expression still a little pained, and Dick returned it, trying for a smile. Jason turned to face Damian, who was hovering on the steps. “Remember what I showed you,” he said, and Dick spun around in sudden concern.

“Jason, what did you –”

“I do not believe the maneuver will be as effective as you promised.”

“Trust me, Demon Brat,” Jason laughed, grinning at the look on Dick’s face, “See you later.”

“Damian, what did Jason teach –”

The boy lunged at him and Dick froze – he wasn’t expecting an attack, he didn’t want to hurt Damian, was the kid planning to escape _already_ –

There was no knife. Or punch. Damian had wrapped his arms around Dick’s stomach and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that this was a _hug_.

Dick choked on a sob and gently wrapped his arms around his baby brother. The car was gone.

“Hood was right,” Damian scowled up at him as he disengaged. Dick let him go. “That is…perplexing.”

“This family is perplexing,” Dick sighed, taking a seat on the front stoop to wait for Alfred’s return. “You’ll get used to it. Robin.”

Damian didn’t respond, but Dick could see his face light up at the name.

It was late evening by the time Alfred returned and Dick watched him make his weary way back to the house. He sighed when he reached Dick and Damian. “They will be back, Master Dick,” Alfred said, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“All of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to leave it here, but then I decided to write a follow-up on Dick's reaction when Bruce comes home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to preface this with a disclaimer that I usually don't write this fast, do not expect me to crank out complete fics back-to-back.
> 
> Also the batfam has invaded my life please send help.

Dick was running on too little sleep – patrol had run late, work had piled up, Damian had stormed off in yet _another_ snit, Dick didn’t even know what had set him off this time – and he groaned when he got an incoming call from Jason.

At the beginning, Jason had danced around the point, taking about the places they were visiting and not about what they were doing, but his anticipation had bled through eventually and every time he started talking about Bruce, Dick gritted his teeth and zoned him out.

He didn’t want to hear how close they were to getting Bruce back. Not today. Not when he’d spent the entire patrol questioning his every decision, not after he watched Damian stalk away with the thought _Bruce would know what to do_ , not when the exhaustion bled into his bones.

He picked up the call.

“Jason?”

“Dick.” Jason’s voice was heavy, intense, thrumming with an emotion Dick couldn’t name.

Dread began to pool. Something happened. To Jason. To Tim. He should’ve never let them leave. He should’ve –

“We’re coming back.”

Dick paused. Mentally rewound that sentence. “What?”

“We’re coming back,” Jason said, “We’re _all_ coming back.”

Dick froze. _What_.

“We found him, Dick,” Jason said, sounding half-choked but _happy_ , “We’re bringing him home.”

Dick stayed unmoving long after the call ended.

* * *

Dick cut his work as close to the set time as possible, heading for the Cave a minute before Jason had said they would arrive.

Alfred and Damian were already there – Alfred was waiting near the computer with a tea set, and Damian was almost bouncing on his feet near the entrance. Dick stopped on the last step and waited.

Something heavy was weighting his limbs. He didn’t know what it was. No – he didn’t want to give it a name.

Giving it a name would make it real, and Dick felt like he was walking through a dream. He was afraid to let it burst.

The sound of an engine nearing. The Cave doors sliding open. The engine clicking off.

Damian, darting forward, “Father –”

Dick faltered and loped back up the stairs.

He didn’t – he couldn’t – his heart was racing, a _thud-thud-thud_ that didn’t let him breathe and he didn’t know where he was running – he didn’t know _why_ he was running – but the fear was a monster chasing him and Dick ran like he was nine years old and seeing shapes in the shadows and –

He stopped in the study. He had never used it. He’d tried – told himself that it was his now, that Bruce wasn’t coming back, that it didn’t _matter_ – and yet no one had disturbed the papers on the desk. If it hadn’t been for the lack of dust, Dick would’ve assumed that even Alfred had stayed away.

He stopped in the study and walked to the window and let his forehead fall against the glass.

It was cold. It leeched into his bones like shackles settling around his joints. It was _guilt-_ terror _-regret_ -disgust _-why-didn’t-I_ -I-thought- _hate_. It was the bone-chilling certainty of a child in a home not their own, that _this was it_. The last, final straw. The one test they didn’t pass.

That this was the line in the sand and Dick had _failed_.

Dick made a sharp, wordless cry – because he was beyond words, beyond language, beyond anything but wild, desperate hope and gripping, painful dread – and tightened his grasp on the windowsill. The edge bit into him, the pressure almost painful, and he just gripped it harder.

He should go back down. He should check to make sure they actually brought _Bruce_ back and not some weird clone. He should go down and run the million tests they needed to, and ask the security questions, and a hundred other things to confirm that Batman was back.

He should.

But the windowsill biting into his fingers was the only thing keeping him upright and Dick couldn’t let go.

“Dick?”

He froze. It felt like he’d been turned to stone. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t _breathe_.

“Dick?”

Footsteps, loud enough to hear and feel. Breathing, quiet and even. Warmth, in the fingers that curled around his shoulder.

“Dick?”

He went with the grip because he couldn’t resist it, allowed it to pull him away from the window, allowed it to break his grasp on the windowsill, allowed it to envelop him in the quiet, firm warmth.

Dick let go.

He was falling.

He’d been holding on for so long, so tightly, so desperately that he’d forgotten what it was like to fall.

The curl of doubt, the fear of breaking, the guilt and regret – all of it was gone. There was only the wind rushing around him and the swoop in his stomach as he tumbled through the air.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bruce’s arms wrapped around him as he choked on a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to drag out, his voice cracking and hitching, “I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry_ , Bruce, I’m sorry, I’m –”

“Shh.” A hand rubbing in circles on his back. “It’s okay, Dick, it’s okay.”

“I – I didn’t believe Tim – I didn’t, I’m so sorry, I –”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“I couldn’t even _listen_ to him, Bruce – I’m so sorry – I told him he was in denial and – and –”

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice was firm. “ _Breathe_ , son.”

Dick choked on the inhale. “I’m not,” he tried, “I didn’t – I couldn’t – I thought you were _gone_.”

“I’m so sorry, Dick,” and Bruce’s voice was achingly sad, “Believe me, I’m so sorry for leaving you.”

“I didn’t try to get you back,” Dick confessed, low and miserable, and surely this was what would do it, what would wrench Bruce away from him and back to the family that had never given up on him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” The hand kept rubbing his back, kept its firm grip around Dick’s waist, and didn’t let him go to crumple against the floor.

“It’s not,” Dick gasped, “It’s _not_.” Bruce wasn’t listening to him. He didn’t _understand_. “I let you down. _I gave up_.”

“No, Dick, you didn’t. You didn’t give up. You worked so hard.”

“I gave up on you. I didn’t even _try_. I didn’t believe you would come back.” _I failed_.

Because that was the crux of the whole point. He was the eldest, he was in charge, he was the one who had to stand whenever Batman faltered and he’d made a horrible mistake.

“You didn’t give up on the family,” Bruce said softly, “You held them together while I was gone. You were so brave, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry for leaving you.”

“I didn’t believe you were coming back,” Dick repeated, his voice cracking, “I didn’t try to find you.”

“Tim and Jason found me,” Bruce said quietly and Dick shuddered. “But you were checking in on them.”

“I didn’t –”

“You were training Damian. Keeping him safe.”

“It wasn’t –”

“I didn’t need you to find me, Dick,” Bruce said softly, “I needed you to watch over the family when I couldn’t. And you did an amazing job.”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Dick said hoarsely, “I couldn’t stop Tim from dropping school, or Jason from killing, and Damian almost ran away twice and Gotham –”

“There is no such thing as _good enough_ ,” Bruce said, gentle but firm. “You were trying your best, and that’s all I ever wanted.”

“But I didn’t –”

“I couldn’t stop Tim from becoming Robin. I _definitely_ wasn’t the one who stopped Jason from killing. And Damian stayed _because of you_.”

Dick tightened his grip, clutching Bruce like he’d disappear, and cried until he had no tears left. By the time he lifted his head, trembling and wrung out, Bruce’s shirt was soaked.

His dad gave him a soft smile. Dick made an inarticulate sound and hugged him again. “I missed you, dad,” he whispered.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

* * *

Dick woke up with a start.

The room was dark, the faintest hint of moonlight filtering through the curtains. It was silent. No baby assassin at the door, or the window, or hiding under his bed to take years off of Dick’s life in some ridiculous test of his reflexes.

It was quiet. Heavy with it, a tension that saturated the room and made it difficult to breathe.

Bruce.

Dick froze.

Bruce back, the hug, the _‘it’s okay, sweetheart’_ , the exoneration Dick hadn’t dared to hope for…had it all been a dream?

Dick was at the door before his mind caught up to his movements.

Of course Bruce was back. They’d had dinner together, the whole family sitting together at the same table, and a part of it had healed something in Dick’s heart. He had hugged Tim and apologized for not believing him, hugged Jason for coming back in one piece, and hugged Damian because the kid had been looking left out.

Bruce had been smiling, Alfred had been _beaming_ , and everyone had gone to sleep in their rooms in the Manor for the first time in _years_.

Bruce was back. Of course he was. Dick was just going to check on Damian, make sure the kid was okay – he didn’t do well with upheavals, and what if he was lying awake, waiting for some sort of ‘test’ now that Bruce was back, staring at the ceiling in –

Damian’s room was empty. The bed was perfectly made.

Okay. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Maybe Damian couldn’t sleep and went to the Cave to train. Maybe he’d gone for a late-night glass of water. Of course, he usually woke Dick up along the way, but maybe he hadn’t felt like bothering Dick this time.

It was okay. Dick was going to check the Cave and the kitchen before he had a meltdown. It was _fine_.

Dick paused at Jason’s door. As long as he was _here_ …

Jason’s room was empty. The bedcovers looked rumpled, but there was no other sign of him.

Jason probably went back to his apartment. That he’d stayed for dinner was a big deal. But Jason followed up family bonding with disappearing off the face of the earth, so this wasn’t weird. Dick would find Damian, and then text Jason. It would be fine.

Dick stopped in front of Tim’s door and didn’t even try to think up an excuse. This time he wrenched the door open hard, but there was no startled teenager blinking up from the bed. There was no one at all.

Something was clawing at Dick’s throat, wrapping around his neck and _squeezing_.

Dick backed away from the empty room and headed down the hallway at a near sprint.

It had been a dream, a stupid, _stupid_ dream and Tim and Jason weren’t back and Damian was missing and Dick had _failed_ and it would be so much worse now and he couldn’t go back to being Batman with the image of Bruce smiling down at him and –

Bruce’s door clicked open easily under his hand. For an instant, the bed was cold and empty, and then he blinked.

There were four lumps in the bed. Dick counted them five times before he stopped, trembling, and took a breath.

He collapsed heavily against the door frame and he must’ve made some sound, _something_ despite how desperately he was trying to choke everything down, because blue eyes squinted open at the far side of the bed.

“Dickie?” Jason mumbled sleepily.

Dick straightened up and tried to give him a tremulous smile. “Just checking in,” he said, his voice wavering.

Jason blinked at him, and then narrowed his eyes. He reached past Tim, who was practically drowning in his pillow, and nudged the largest lump in the bed.

“No, Jay, don’t –”

“Dick?” Bruce’s voice rumbled and Dick froze as his dad opened his eyes. Bruce regarded him for a long moment as Dick stood still in the doorway, before he lifted the arm curling around Damian.

Dick took the wordless invitation and crept into the bed, carefully stretching around Damian. There wasn’t much space left on the bed – Dick would fall off if he turned – but he buried his face into Bruce’s shoulder and tried not to cry.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked softly.

“Sorry,” Dick said, muffled, “Woke up. Nobody was in their rooms.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Bruce said. His hand rested on Dick’s arm and began rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. “We’re all here now.”

Dick stretched an arm across Damian and Bruce, until he could feel Tim’s arm and exhaled shakily. A warm, calloused hand dropped on top of his and squeezed, and Dick let the gentle motion carry him back to sleep.

His family was here. They were safe. Everything would be okay.


End file.
